


My Heart Will Go On

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Crossover, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-05
Updated: 2004-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: An adaptation of the movie 'Titanic' - The plot bunny credit for this fic goes to Nic at the QAF FanFiction goup at Yahoo!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

****

Descent  
The North Atlantic, 1997

The deep sea submersible landed on the bottom of the ocean with a slight jerk. Brock Lovett and Lewis Bodine were awakened from their nap.

“We are here” the Russian submarine pilot stated blandly. “Did you to _comrades_ have a good nap?”

Brock shook his head slightly. “Two hours passes by far quicker when sleeping. Lewis, get the ROV going. We don’t have unlimited time down here.”

Lewis shifted spaces with Brock. The interior of the submersible was tightly packed with research equipment, leaving barely enough room for the four men who made the long journey to the bottom of the ocean.

One of the tiny monitors flicked to life, showing an inky blackness. Lewis placed the goggles over his eyes so that he could control the ROV more precisely. Taking the control box on his lap, he started to maneuver the ROV’s camera with the joystick.

Brock was watching the monitor intently. “Do you see it? I don’t see it…there!” he exclaimed.

On the monitor, a ghostly vision of the large hulk appeared. The bow of the ship appeared to be coming straight towards the submersible. The sediment on the floor of the ocean had rippled, giving the illusion of motion. The hulk towered above the seafloor, standing undisturbed for the past 84 years - the Titanic, or what was left of the great ocean liner.

“It still gets me every time.” Brock’s voice was full of emotion.

“It’s just your guilt because you are stealing from the dead, Brock” the Russian pilot stated dryly with his thick Russian accent.

“Thanks Anatoly. Work with me here. We are after the biggest find of all time. Cut me some slack.” Brock smiled slightly at Anatoly. “Let’s move this up to the deck, shall we?”

Anatoly shrugged his shoulders, and turned back to his control panel. He expertly maneuvered the submersible to the top of the wreckage, and setting the craft gently down on the deck.

Brock picked up a video camera, checked the settings and turned it on, facing it out of one of the porthole windows. “It still gets me every time, to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above.”

The rest of the small crew rolled their eyes in response to Brock’s monologue.

“You are so full of shit, boss.” Lewis chuckled.

“Dive nine. Here we are again on the deck of Titanic…two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train going over an ant if our hull fails. These windows are nine inches thick and if they go, it’s sayonara in two microseconds.” Brock shut the camera off and placed it on the floor.

“There, that’s done. Let’s go to work.”

On the monitor, images were being relayed back from the ROV as it descended through what, at one time, was the Grand Staircase of the ocean liner. The ROV continued on its journey, sending back eerie images of the relics left from the disaster – remnants of the ornate, hand-carved woodwork, a piano, a chandelier – still hanging from the ceiling. Other objects came in to focus – a piece of White Star Line china, a woman’s shoe, an unopened bottle of champagne.

Perhaps the most unsettling image of all – an object that looked like a child’s skull, partially obscured in the silt and sand that had settled throughout the boat. As the ROV got closer, the image cleared. It was the porcelain head of a child’s doll.

The ROV wound its way through the corridors of the ship, and found that while the First Class Grand Staircase was gone, some of the ship was more completely preserved. A door still hung on its original, rusted mounts. Sconces and moldings were still visible, as ornate as the day that they were installed – hints of the magnificence of the past.

The ROV turned and traveled through a doorway, into the sitting room of a suite. It had been one of the most luxurious suites that the Titanic had to offer. “Stay off the floor. Don’t stir that shit up like you did yesterday.” Brock had a serious look on his face. Lewis nodded his head.

The noise level in the submersible dropped to a bare minimum, as the men were focused on the task at hand. They were looking for a specific relic in this stateroom, one that would secure their future for a long time.

After a few long moments, Lewis started to mutter. “I want to see what’s under that door there. Someone give me my hands.” A set of joysticks were handed to Lewis, as the arms were deployed on the ROV. 

“Easy Lewis, take it slow. What do you think is under there?”

Lewis used the joysticks to grab the edge of the door and began to flip the door over. When the door and silt finally settled, his expression was jubilant. “Hey boss, are you seein’ what I’m seein’?

Brock stared at the monitors, edging closer. The expression on his face was as if he had found the Holy Grail. Barely visible on the monitors is the outline of a large boxy object. “Anatoly, lets get that rigged up to go topside. We’re done here for the day.” Brock had a shit-eating grin on his face.


	2. My Heart Will Go On

****

Topside  
Russian Research Vessel Keldysh, Atlantic Ocean, 1997

The entire research team was assembled on the deck of the Keldysh waiting for the opening of the steel safe that had been brought topside with Brock Lovett earlier in the day. The safe was still dripping wet, having recently been hoisted out of the Atlantic and placed on the aft deck of the research vessel.

“Who’s the best?” Lewis was in his glory, having found the safe approximately 3 hours earlier.

Brock clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You are, Lewis.” Turning to the documentary producer, Brock asked “We rolling?”

The producer nodded. Brock turned to the camera and started to speak, as a few crewmembers cut the hinges of the safe apart to free the door. “Well, here it is, the moment of truth. Here’s where we find out if the time, the sweat, and the money spent to charter this ship and these subs to come out here to the middle of the North Atlantic were worth it. If what we think is in that safe is actually in there, it will have been the best investment yet.” Brock had a wolfish grin on his face as a large hook was placed through the safe door, and the door was pulled free of the hinges.

Brock dropped to his knees, a cigar clamped in his mouth, and he started to paw through the muddy contents of the safe. He pulled a leather portfolio from the safe and tossed it unceremoniously on the deck. He continued to pull what appeared to be clumps of mud out of the safe. The look on his face said it all – his expression had changed from elation to depression in a matter of seconds.

Lewis looked down at his friend. “You know boss, this happened to Geraldo and his career never recovered.”

Brock looked directly into the camera lens. “Shut that damn thing off,” he stated gruffly.

* * *

Inside the laboratory on the research vessel Keldysh, the activity level was high. Preservation technicians were carefully removing papers from the safe and placing them in trays of water to separate them without damaging them. The paper needed to be stabilized before being exposed to the air, or it would crumble in their hands. Other technicians were cleaning additional artifacts that had been removed from the stateroom at the same time.

Brock was pacing around the room while talking on the satellite phone with his investors. “Dave? Barry? Look, it wasn’t in the safe….no, look, don’t worry about it. They’re still plenty of places it could be….in the floor debris in the suite, in the fiancee’s room, in the purser’s safe on C deck…” Brock’s expression changed quickly as he watched the monitor over one of the technician’s work space.

A technician was coaxing layers of mud and grime off of a larger sheet of paper. As the debris was washed away, a conte crayon drawing of a man reclining on a bed was revealed.

“Let me call you right back.” Brock ended the call and walked over to the technician.

The drawing was in excellent shape, even though the edges of the paper were beginning to disintegrate. The man was handsome and beautifully rendered. He was in his twenties and nude – although his face shows a comfort with his nudity that was unheard of for the era. Scrawled in the lower right hand corner of the paper was the date – April 14, 1912 – and the initials J.T.

The man was not entirely nude – a sheet was casually draped across his legs, and on his wrist appears to be a bracelet or some piece of jewelry, along with another piece held in his hand. The most identifiable portion was the large stone in his hand.

Brock grabbed a black and white reference picture of a jeweled bracelet on a black velvet display from the lab table. He held the picture next to the drawing – it is the same piece of jewelry, a complex setting which showcased multiple stones. An additional picture showed almost a companion piece – a large, heart shaped stone set with diamonds on a heavy necklace. The stones from the bracelet and the necklace appeared to be the same type of jewel.

“I’ll be god-damned.” Brock set the picture down then walked out of the laboratory.


	3. My Heart Will Go On

_“Treasure hunter Brock Lovett is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using deep submergence technology to work two and a half miles down at another famous wreck, the Titanic. He is with us live via satellite from the Russian research ship Keldysh in the middle of the Atlantic…Hello Brock?”_

An elderly gentleman sat in the solarium of his house. He was listening to the TV playing in the background, while working on a clay pot on the potter’s wheel. His hands were age-spotted and gnarled, but still surprisingly strong. The liquid clay covered his hands as he worked with it.

_“Hello Tracy. Of course, everyone knows the story of the Titanic. You know, the nobility, the band playing until the very end and all that. What I’m interested in are the untold stories, the secrets locked deep inside the hull of Titanic. We are out here using robot technology to go further into the wreck than anyone has ever been able to before.”_

The man stopped the potter’s wheel and stood up slowly. Shuffling into the kitchen, he stopped to watch the small TV on the countertop.

“Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber.”

“What is it?” a younger version of the gentleman asked.

“Turn that up, Taylor.”

“Well, nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut’s tomb grave robbing. I have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is preserved and cataloged properly. Take a look at this drawing that we found just today, a piece of paper that’s been underwater for 84 years, and my team was able to preserve it intact. Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity?”

The elderly gentleman stood, galvanized by the image of the drawing on the TV screen. “I’ll be god-damned.”


	4. My Heart Will Go On

**Past Meets Present  
Russian Research Vessel Keldysh, Atlantic Ocean, 1997**

The crew of the Keldysh was working at a fever-pace, preparing for a night launch. Brock and his team were making the final checks and preparations for the latest journey to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean to visit the Titanic.

Bobby Buell, the liaison between the research team and the financial backers, came running down the deck to intercept Brock before he could board the deep-sea submersible. “There’s a satellite call for you,” he panted, trying to catch his breath.

Brock rolled his eyes at Bobby. “Bobby, we’re launching. See these submersibles going in the water? Take a message.” His tone brooked no argument and he turned to walk away.

Bobby gently touched Brock on the arm. As Brock turned around, Bobby began to speak. “No, trust me. You want to take this call.” Brock shrugged his shoulders, and allowed Bobby to lead him to the Satellite phone. Bobby handed Brock the receiver, pushing the button that would connect the call. 

“This is Brock Lovett, what can I do for you…”

“Mr. Taylor. Brian Taylor” Bobby whispered in Brock’s ear.

“Mr. Taylor?” Brock shot a perturbed glance at Bobby.

“I was just wondering if you had found ‘Le Coeur de la Mer’ yet, Mr. Lovett.”

Brock looked at Bobby with a shocked expression on his face. “I told you that you wanted to take this call.”

Brock shook off his surprise. “Alright, you have my attention Mr. Taylor. Can you tell me who the man in the drawing is?”

A slight chuckle preceded Brian’s response. “Oh yes, the man in the drawing is me.”

* * *

The sky was a crystal-clear blue, the sea as calm as glass, as the helicopter flew in to meet the Research Vessel Keldysh. No land was visible in any direction, and Brian was watching intently out the window.

“We are about 15 minutes away from the Keldysh, sir.” The co-pilot turned to inform the passengers. Brian nodded curtly.

_This will be the first time in 84 years that I have been in this place, this physical spot on the earth. I don’t know if I can face the demons, the ghosts, that still haunt these waters._ Brian was deep in thought as the helicopter brought him closer to the place where his life changed, forever.

* * *

Brock and Lewis were walking along the deck, watching one of the submersibles being prepared for a dive. The phone call from Brian Taylor had disturbed Lewis more than Brock. They descended the staircase to the main deck, Lewis decided to speak up.

“Brock, about that phone call from that Mr. Taylor. He has to be a nutcase, like that woman – what’s her name? Anastasia.”

Brock looked at Lewis and rolled his eyes. As they reached the deck, they met up with Bobby. He was pointing at a bright spot in the sky. “They’re inbound!” he hollered. Brock nodded at Bobby and continued walking toward the helipad at the stern of the ship. Lewis continued to talk, as if he was never interrupted.

“He says he’s Brian Aiden Kinney, right? Brian Aiden Kinney died on the Titanic at the age of 20. If he’d lived, he’d be over a hundred now.” Lewis was determined that this man was a fraud.

Brock looked at Lewis. “A hundred and three next month.”

Lewis shrugged his shoulders. “Ok, so he’s a very _old_ god-damned liar! I traced him as far back as the 20’s. He was working in an art gallery. His name was Brian Taylor back then. Then he moved to Cedar Rapids, and fathered a couple of kids. Now his kids are dead, and from what I’ve heard, Cedar Rapids is dead!”

Brock noticed the large helicopter making it’s descent to the helipad on the ship. He grabbed Lewis by the arm and steered him towards the helicopter. “And everybody who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead, or on this ship. But he knows! And I want to hear what he has to say. Got it?”

Lewis nodded his head slightly. “I still don’t believe him.”

“So be it, Lewis. They’re landing. Let’s go greet our guests.”

The large Sea Stallion helicopter bounced down on the deck of the Keldysh. The propellers slowly came to a halt, and the door opened. The helicopter crew chief jumped down, out of the craft, and started to unload suitcases and a steamer trunk. Taylor followed the crew chief out of the helicopter, and assisted in lowering Brian down to the deck of the ship. He was in a wheelchair, and looked fragile among the high-tech equipment and the grungy deck crew. Brock walked forward and extended his hand. Brian took the proffered hand, and gave it a firm shake.

“Welcome to the Keldysh, Mr. Taylor.”

* * *

Inside the stateroom, Brian and Taylor were unpacking the many suitcases that they brought along with them. Brian was setting a few framed pictures on the dresser, arranging them carefully. A gentle knock was heard on the doorframe. Brian and Taylor both looked up to find Brock and Lewis standing in the doorway.

Brock smiled at the men. “Is your stateroom alright?”

Brian glanced around quickly. “Yes, very nice. Have you met my grandson, Taylor?”

Taylor gently touched Brian’s shoulder. “Yes, we met just a few minutes ago, Grandpa. Remember, up on deck?”

Brian shook his head slightly. “Oh, yes.” Brock and Lewis glanced at each other. Lewis looked as if he had further proof that Brian was not whom he claimed to be. Brian finished arranging the photos – pictures of his children and grandchildren, and one of a lady whom they assumed was his wife. 

“Is there anything that we could do for you, Mr. Taylor?” Brock asked.

“Call me Brian. And yes, I would like to see my drawing.”


	5. My Heart Will Go On

****

Laboratory Deck, Russian Research Vessel Keldysh, Atlantic Ocean, 1997

Brian, Taylor, Brock, and Lewis made their way from the staterooms to the Laboratory Deck to grant Brian’s request.

Taylor was pushing Brian in his wheelchair, irregardless of his protests. “I may be 102, but I can still damn well get around on my own.”

Taylor chuckled. “Grandpa, just take advantage of it. I am sure you will be glad for it later.” Brian dismissed his grandson’s remark with a slight wave of his hand. 

Brock stopped walking and turned to Brian. “Here we are, the Preservation Laboratory. This is where the bulk of our work is done.” He opened the door and ushered Brian and Taylor inside. As soon as Taylor stopped pushing the wheelchair, Brian stood up and faced Brock.

“I would like to see the drawing, Mr. Lovett.”

Brock smiled slightly and pointed to a tray of water on the countertop. Brian walked slowly over to the tray, and looked at the piece of paper that he never hoped to see again.

“Until we can figure out how best to preserve the drawing, we need to keep it immersed in water.” Brock continued to explain their preservation techniques, but Taylor was the only one listening. Brian stared at the drawing, remembering the night it was drawn as if it were yesterday.

Memories were flooding Brian’s brain – memories of a man who had touched his life, his soul, his heart 84 years prior, and a man whom he had never forgotten. He could remember the look on the young artist’s face as he drew the picture, the color of his hair, the feel of his skin. Brian closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to show any emotion over the drawing or the memories. 

Brock coughed gently to get Brian’s attention while motioning toward a chair for him to sit. “Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792 – about the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too, re-cut into a heart-like shape. It became Le Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond.”

Brian had a tongue-in-cheek smirk on his face. “It was a dreadful, heavy thing. Lindsay swore she would never wear it.”

Taylor looked at the drawing again, dumbfounded. “You actually believe this is you, Grandpa?”

Brian looked up at Taylor, a bemused look on his face. “Why, it is me, Taylor. Wasn’t I a hot number?” Taylor blushed slightly at his Grandfather’s remarks.

Brock smiled. “I tracked it down through insurance records, an old claim that was settled under terms of absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Brian?”

Brian pondered the question for a moment, and then answered. “Jack Kinney, I would imagine.”

Brock’s smile widened. “Jack Kinney, right. Pittsburgh steel tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Brian had purchased in France for his fiancée…”

“Lindsay Peterson” Brian interjected.

“Lindsay Peterson,” Brock continued, “a week before he sailed on the Titanic. And the claim was filed right after the sinking, settled under terms of the utmost secrecy. So, the diamond had to’ve gone down with the ship.” He paused, turning to Taylor. “See the date?”

Taylor looked at where he was pointing. “April 14, 1912.”

Lewis finally spoke up. “If your Grandfather is who he says he is, he was holding the diamond the day Titanic sank.”

Brock sank down to his knees, to be at eye level with Brian. “And that makes you my new best friend. I will happily compensate you for anything you can tell us that will lead to the recovery.”

Brian looked at Brock warily. “I don’t want your money, Mr. Lovett. I know how hard it is for people who care greatly for money to give it away.”

“You don’t want anything, Mr. Taylor?” Brock could not believe what he had just heard.

Brian looked at Brock sternly. “You may give me this,” indicating the drawing, “if anything I tell you is of value.”

Bobby Buell had joined the group in the laboratory, and heard the last exchange. He looked at Brock warily, as if Brian was asking for the diamond in exchange for information. He shifted his gaze from Brian to Bobby and then back again. In a firm, but shaky voice, he replied “Deal.”

Brian again stood and crossed the small room to a table that held about 50 objects laid out on blue velvet. Glancing over the objects, he recognized all of them. A pair of cufflinks that his father had given him, a pocket watch, Lindsay’s hair combs. Objects from another lifetime.

“These are a few things that we have recovered from your stateroom.” Lewis stated, as Brian ran his hands gently over a few of the objects. 

Brian picked up a silver mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. “This was Lindsay’s. How extraordinary! It looks the same as the last time I saw it.” Brian was again experiencing a rush of emotions and memories that had lay dormant in his mind for 8 decades. 

“Are you ready to go back to Titanic, Brian?” Brock asked quietly.

Brian nodded his head slightly, his hands shaking as he picked up the pocket watch and stared.

* * *

The group had all moved into the darkened video monitoring room of the Keldysh. One wall of the room was lined with monitors all showing different views of the Titanic as it lay on the ocean floor. Brian’s eyes scanned across the monitors, and settled on one image in particular – the bow railing. Brock was watching Brian’s reactions very carefully. That part of the ship means something to him, he thought.

The group sat down around a computer monitor, and Lewis became extremely animated. “We’ve put together the world’s largest database on the Titanic. Okay, here…”

Brock cut Lewis off. “Brian might not want to see this, Lewis.” He had a concerned look on his face.

“No, it’s fine. I’m curious. Continue.” Brian’s tone brooked no argument.

Lewis clicked a few keys on the computer, and an animated graphic filled the screen. Lewis began to narrate the animation. “Ok, here we go. She hits the burg on the starboard side, right, and she sort of bumps along, punching holes like Morse code – dit, dit, dit – along the side, below the water line. Now the forward compartments start to flood, and as the water rises, it spills over the tops of the watertight bulkheads, which unfortunately don’t go any higher than E deck.”

Brian’s eyes were wide, as he never truly knew what had happened that night to cause the great ocean liner to sink. Lewis continued his narration.

“So, as the bow goes down, the stern is coming up. Slow at first, and then faster and faster until finally it’s whole ass is sticking way up in the air.” Lewis was gesturing wildly while he narrated the story along with the animation. “And that’s a big ass – we’re talking 2o to 30 thousand tons. Okay, and the hull’s not designed to deal with that kind of pressure, so what happens? She splits, right down to the keel. And the stern falls back level.”

Brian shifted uneasily in his chair, remembering the last few minutes that he stood on the deck of the Titanic. He tried hard not to let the emotions show on his face. _It was a damn scary few minutes. He is so animated about this, but how could he ever know what it was like to face that disaster, possibly the last few minutes of your life?_

Lewis continued talking, as he had a captive audience. He did not notice Brian’s reaction. “Then as the bow sinks, it pulls the stern vertical, and then finally detaches. The stern section kinda bobs there like a cork, floods, and goes under about 2:20 am. Two hours and forty minutes after the collision.”

“The bow section planes away, landing about a half a mile away, going 20 to 30 knots when it hits the ocean floor.” The animation showed the landing of the bow section, which Lewis added in his own sound effects. He had a large smile on his face as he turned to Brian. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Brian looked up at Lewis coolly. “Thank you for that fine, forensic analysis, Mr. Bodine. Of course, the experience of it was somewhat different.” Brian looked back at the computer monitor, which was still showing the bow section of the Titanic as it had landed on the ocean floor.

Brock had been silent throughout the discussion of the disaster, and had sat down next to Brian to observe him more closely. His voice broke as he asked Brian “Will you share your story with us?”

Brian stood and walked over to the wall of monitors that were showing pictures of the ruins of the Titanic. _That’s one of the Wellin davits that were used to lower the lifeboats. I can remember that day as if it were yesterday. Do I need to go back to that place? Do I need to relive the experience?_

Brian’s mind was reeling with images, sounds, and memories that would no longer be ignored. He reached out to touch the monitor that was showing the image of the First Class dining hall doors, and he began to sob quietly. Taylor rushed to Brian’s side, gently embracing his Grandfather.

“I’m taking him to rest.” Taylor started to steer Brian back to his wheelchair. Brian stood firmly in his spot in front of the monitors.

“No!” he stated firmly, and turned back to the group of researchers. He sat down in his chair. Brock moved closer to him. He took a microcassette recorder from Bobby and hit the record button as he set it down on the table next to him.

“Tell us, Brian.”

Brian took a deep breath and began to speak. “It’s been 84 years…”

“It’s ok, just try to remember anything, anything at all.” Brock had moved closer to Brian and was looking at him with pleading eyes.

Brian sat up straighter in his chair, and gave Brock a look that would have made any man tremble. “Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Lovett?” His tone was one that he would use with his children when they were getting out of line when they were younger. Taylor chuckled lightly, and Brock began to blush.

“It’s been 84 years,” Brian began, “and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams, and it was. It really was.”


	6. My Heart Will Go On

****

White Star Line berth, Southampton, England – April 11, 1912

It was a breezy, sunny spring day in Southampton. The dock was at a fever-pace with passengers preparing to board the grand ocean liner, along with families saying good-bye to their loved ones. There were several White Star Line crewmen diligently working on loading supplies, baggage, and freight on to the Titanic. The hull of the ship was the largest object many of the people on the dock had ever seen. Everything was dwarfed by the size of the ocean liner. People were like ants in comparison.

On one side of the dock was the inspection queue, through which all Third class – steerage – passengers were required to go before boarding. The First and Second class passengers were escorted through a separate entrance at the other end of the dock.

A motorcade, lead by a beautiful Renault touring car, arrived at the dock. It was obvious to the many people on the dock that whoever was in the car was extremely rich. The driver honked his horn to get people to move out of their way. The driver parked the car and quickly got out to assist his passengers in disembarking from the vehicle. As he opened the door, a white-gloved hand was held out, waiting for the driver. 

The driver gently took the proffered hand, and Lindsay Peterson stepped gently out of the Renault. She was the fiancée of the heir of one of the wealthiest men in America. She was dressed in a beautiful, French designed traveling outfit – a white day dress, with thin purple pinstripes. In addition, she wore a stunning purple hat which complimented her outfit. Lindsay looked in awe at the ship that they would be sailing on. 

A tall, handsome gentleman followed her out of the Renault. Brian Aiden Kinney, heir to the Kinney Steel fortune. He was dressed well, in a tan suit complete with bowler hat. He also was in awe of the Titanic. 

Lindsay turned to her fiancée. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It doesn’t look any bigger than the Mauretania.”

Brian looked at Lindsay, with a small smirk on his face. “You can be blasé about some things, Lindsay, but _not_ about Titanic. It’s over a hundred feet longer than Mauretania, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian café, even Turkish baths.” Lindsay simply nodded, and walked away from Brian towards the boarding plank.

Brian turned back to the Renault, and offered his hand to the other occupant of the car. Ruth Peterson, Lindsay’s mother, was traveling with them as well as was the custom of the time. “Your daughter is much too hard to impress, Ruth.” Ruth simply smiled at Brian.

“So this is the ship that they say is unsinkable.” Ruth stated plainly while gazing upward at the great ship.

“It is unsinkable!” Brian stated with pride, as if he had built the ship himself. “God himself couldn’t sink this ship.” He was tapped on the shoulder by a porter from the White Star Line. He appeared harried.

“Sir! Sir! You’ll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, ‘round that way…”

Brian interrupted the porter, and nonchalantly handed the gentleman a fiver. The porter’s eyes widened as he noticed the amount of money that he was just handed. “I put my faith in you, good sir. Please, see my man.” Brian indicated toward the gentleman who had just joined him. Ben Bruckner was Brian’s personal valet. Brian nodded at Ben curtly, and stepped away to join Lindsay and Ruth.

The porter was watching Brian’s retreat in awe. “Yes, sir! My pleasure sir! If I can do anything at all…” the porter gushed. Ben stepped up to the porter and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention back to the task on hand. 

“Yes, right.” Ben grabbed the porter and brought him back to two additional cars that had arrived with the Renault. Drawing the porter’s attention to the back of the cars, he began to speak. “All the trunks from that car there,” the pair continued to walk toward another car. “Twelve from here, and the safe, to the Parlor Suite, rooms B52, 54, and 56.”

The porter quickly blew a whistle and called for cargo handlers to come to his assistance in getting the steamer trunks, suitcases, wooden crates, and steel safe on board the Titanic. 

Brian quickly checked the gold pocket watch that he carried. Quarter-till. I had best get the ladies moving or we will never get on this ship. “We had better hurry. This way, ladies.” He indicated the first class gangway with his hand. The ladies were gathering up their last purchases, items deemed too delicate for the baggage handlers to deal with. Lindsay turned to Trudy, her maid, to ensure that she had all of the packages that were in the Renault. “My coat?” she inquired gently.

Trudy nodded plainly. “Yes, miss.”

Brian led the women towards the First class boarding gangplank. They passed by a gentleman with a cinematograph whom was filming a well dressed young woman. Most of the First class passengers were trying to avoid mingling with the steerage passengers, as they would rather ignore their existence. Ruth walked ahead, and Brian took Lindsay by the arm and escorted her up the walkway. Lindsay turned her head slightly to face Brian. “Why do you look as if you are walking toward your execution, Brian? This is supposed to be the grandest ship in the world.”

Brian pondered for a moment. “I’ve pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history and in her most luxurious suites. Did you ever think that this took a lot of work to accomplish?” Lindsay simply looked at Brian and continued forward. They stepped through the portal on D-deck and had boarded the Titanic.

* * *

“It was the ship of dreams to everyone else. To me it was a slave ship, taking me back to America in chains. Outwardly, I was everything a well brought up gentleman should be. Inside, I was screaming.” Brian commented to the room. The research crew of the Keldysh was drawn around in a circle, listening intently to the story that they were being told.

“But why would you feel like that, Brian? You were…”Lewis was cut off by a glance from Brian,

“Mr. Bodine. Pardon me, Lewis, right?” Lewis nodded his head. “Let me tell this my way. All in good time.” Brian waited for Lewis’ reaction. When the other man sighed, he continued.

“While I was ensuring that my fiancée and future mother-in-law were getting on the Titanic, a life was changing in the tavern across the dock. A life that would intersect with mine in less than twelve hours…”

* * *

Across the dock inside White’s Spirits pub, a group of four gentlemen were playing poker. On the table was a collection of money, watches, and a set of tickets for the Titanic. Two of the gentlemen playing poker were Swedish, and were arguing between themselves.

“You stupid fish head. I can’t believe you bet our tickets!” Olaf said gruffly to his brother.

“You lost our money. I’m just trying to get it back! Now shut up and take a card!” Sven said back to Olaf. Both men were speaking in Swedish.

Justin Taylor was watching the exchange between the two Swedes. Justin was about 19 years old, and had been on his own since he was fifteen. His hair was a bit long for the time, blonde strands hanging down into his blue eyes. He was an artist, as well as a drifter, having left the bohemian art scene in Paris to try his luck in England. He had been traveling recently with his friend, Ethan Gold, who was originally from Italy. Ethan leaned in to talk to him. “Justin, you _pozzi,_ you bet everything we have.” Ethan’s voice was thick with his Italian accent. 

Justin took a drag off of his cigarette. He turned to Ethan, blowing out the smoke. “When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose.” He had an optimistic look on his face, while Ethan looked crestfallen. Justin turned to Sven. “Sven?”

Sven looked at Justin warily, and placed one card face down on the table. Justin handed Sven a card and slid the other back toward himself. Sven took the card and added it to his hand. Justin continued to look over his hand, but his expression was unreadable. He placed one card on the discard pile, and took one card. He placed his cigarette in the ashtray, and looked across the table to the other players.

“Alright, the moment of truth. Somebody’s life is about to change. Ethan?”

Ethan looked at his cards, and a sour expression crossed his face. “Niente.” He slammed his cards down on the table.

Justin turned to Olaf. Olaf showed his hand. “Olaf? Nothing.” He turned to Sven. Sven laid his cards down on the table in a fan. Justin took in a breath like a hiss. “Uh oh, two pair. Mmm. I’m sorry, Ethan.”

Ethan became enraged. “Sorry? What sorry? You lose my money? _Ma va fa’n culo testa di cazzo…_ ”

Justin tapped his cards down on the table and faced Ethan. “I’m sorry,” a stern look on his face, “but you’re not gonna see your mama again for a long time.” He paused slightly, and slammed his cards down on the table. “Because we’re going to America! Full house, boys!” Justin tapped the table for emphasis. 

Ethan grabbed the tickets for Titanic and held them up in the air. Justin stood and reached across the table to rake in their winnings. Just then, Olaf stood and grabbed Justin by the collar. He balled up his free hand into a fist. Justin winced, anticipating a blow from the Swede. Instead, Olaf turned to Sven and knocked him flat on the ground. Sven looked around the room, dazed, and forgot about Justin and Ethan.

Justin turned to Ethan and grabbed the tickets from his hands. “I’m goin’ home!” he exclaimed and pulled Ethan into an embrace. They danced up and down for a moment until Ethan broke the embrace.

“I go to America!” Ethan shouted happily, a wide smile on his face. 

Suddenly, the voice of the Irish barman broke through the din. “No, mate. Titanic go to America, in five minutes.” He pointed towards the Regulator clock on the wall. Justin and Ethan looked at each other with panic. “Oh shit!” they both exclaimed, and gathered up their winnings and possessions and ran out of the pub.

* * *

Justin and Ethan were running down the dock towards the Third class gangplank. “We’re riding in high style now!” Justin hollered back to Ethan as he ducked to clear one of the ramps leading to the Titanic. They were trying to avoid crashing into the people who were gathered along the dock to wave good bye. “We’re a couple of regular swells! We’re practically god-damned royalty _ragazzo mio_!”

The men reached the Third class gangplank as it was being detached from the ship. “Wait, wait! We’re passengers!” he hollered as the crewman was about to close the door. Justin shoved the tickets into the officer’s hands. 

“Have you been through the inspection queue?” the officer inquired.

“Of course. We don’t have any lice. We’re Americans. Both of us.” Justin had a pleading look on his face. 

The officer looked at the tickets quickly, then back at the two men. “Right. Come on board, then.” He waved them on to the ship.

Justin and Ethan worked their way to their room. “We’re the luckiest sons-of-bitches in the world!” he exclaimed breathlessly. They were finally aboard the ship that would take them to America.

 

 

Author's notes:

'Cinematograph' Biograph, or hand-cranked movie camera. High-technology for the times. The gentleman whom they passed was Naniel Marvin, whose father founded the Biograph Film Studio. He was filming his bride, Mary Marvin, which produced some of the only existing footage of the Titanic.


	7. My Heart Will Go On

****

  
Titanic, April 11-12, 1912

The dockworkers were rapidly pulling the mooring ropes off of the piers along the dock. Justin and Ethan ran up to the deck to stand along the edge of the ship and wave good bye to England.

A number of tug boats were attached to the Titanic and were pulling the great ship out of the dock. The grand ship slowly moved away from the dock and in to the open sea. 

Justin and Ethan threw their kit bags down on the deck and grabbed a spot on the railing. Justin started to wave enthusiastically while calling out “Good bye!”

Ethan looked at Justin quizzically. “You know somebody?” he exclaimed. Justin smiled at Ethan.

“Of course not, that’s not the point!” He continued to wave. “Good bye! I’ll miss you!”

Ethan decided to join in the festivities. Waving exuberantly, he also called out “Good bye! I will never forget you!”

A rumble could be felt along the entire ship as the main engines were engaged to bring the Titanic under her own power, and to assist the tugboats in starting the giant ship on her maiden voyage. The great ship was starting on her voyage to America.

* * *

Justin and Ethan were walking along the E deck corridors, searching for their room. There were a great many passengers, many who did not speak English. The walls were painted white, and the plumbing was visible running along the ceiling.

Justin found their room and walked through the door. “Hi, how are you doing?” he said to the two other occupants of the room. “I’m Justin, nice to meet you.” He turned to the gentleman who was standing at the porthole window of their room and held out his hand. “Justin Taylor, nice to meet you.” The gentleman looked quizzically at Justin, but shook his hand. 

Their room was a four-person berth, which had 2 sets of bunk beds and a small porthole window. The accommodations were above standard for most third-class passengers of the day, but were still not nearly as elegant as the first and second class suites that were only a few decks above.

Ethan had followed Justin in to the room and immediately threw his kit bag on to the top bunk. Justin turned to throw his bag up on the top bunk and found Ethan already lying on the bed. “Who says you get top bunk, huh?” he asked, and gave his friend a light hearted slap on the shoulder. He set his bag down on the bottom bunk.

The two other occupants of the room looked at each other. “Where’s Sven?”

* * *

Brian was walking through the private Promenade deck that adjoined the three suites that he had booked for himself, his fiancée, and her mother. Brian held a bottle of champagne in one hand, and two flutes in the other. He walked over to one of the windows and peered out.

A crewman had joined him. “This is your private promenade deck, sir. Would you be requiring anything?” Brian shook his head slightly and waved the man away. “Excuse me” the crewman stated blandly and left.

Lindsay was in the sitting room of her suite, unpacking a crate full of paintings. Trudy, her personal maid, was assisting her with the paintings. The sitting room was richly appointed, with a marble-front fireplace, and gold leaf accents in the carved woodwork on the walls. “Would you like all of them unpacked, miss?” 

Lindsay pulled a painting out of the crate, holding it in her outstretched arms. “Yes. We need a little color in this room.”

A porter came in with more luggage and Ben intercepted the man, directing him to one of the adjoining rooms. Brian walked in to the sitting room. “God, not those finger paintings again.” He had an exasperated tone of voice. “They certainly were a waste of money.” He took a sip of his champagne. 

Lindsay was perusing another painting, and spoke to Trudy. “The difference between Brian’s taste in art and mine is that I have some. They’re fascinating.” She set a smaller painting down on the Empire divan that was in the room. “It’s like being inside a dream or something. There’s truth but no logic.”

Trudy picked up another painting to place along the walls. “What’s the artist’s name?”

Lindsay shook her head. “Something Picasso?” Brian chuckled from the doorway that joined the sitting room with the Promenade.

“Something Picasso? He won’t amount to a thing. He won’t. Trust me.” Brian looked at Trudy sternly. “At least they were cheap.”

Another porter walked in to the sitting room with a large green safe on a hand truck. Ben’s face lit up. “Ah, yes. Put it in the wardrobe” he ordered the porter. Brian dropped the bottle of champagne into the bucket of ice that was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, watching the safe as it went in to the dressing room.

* * *

Lindsay was in her bedroom, setting a large Degas painting on her dresser while Trudy was unpacking Lindsay’s clothes. Lindsay sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers across the duvet. “It smells so brand new, like they built it all just for us. I mean, just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I’ll be the first…”

“And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I’ll still be the first.” Brian interrupted. Trudy blushed at the innuendo of Brian’s statement, quickly leaving the room.

* * *

“We stopped at Charbourd, France to pick up additional passengers, including Margaret Brown. History would call her the ‘Unsinkable’ Molly Brown. But one of the passengers that we picked up would become one of my closest friends on the voyage. Her name was Deborah Grazzi Novotny. But I called her Deb. Her husband had struck gold somewhere out West. Ruth called her ‘new money’. Deb was a wonderful woman with a huge heart.”

Brian chuckled slightly at the memory of the woman. “By the next afternoon, we were steaming west from the coast of Ireland, with nothing out ahead of us but ocean.”

* * *

On the Bridge, Captain Smith watched the prow of the Titanic cut through the ocean sending two glass-like sheets of water along the sides of the ship. He turned to the First Officer William Murdoch. “Take her to sea, Mr. Murdoch. Let’s stretch her legs.” Mr. Murdoch nodded crisply at the captain, and walked back in to the wheel room.

“All ahead full, Mr. Mooney!” Murdoch exclaimed, as he walked over to one of the three brass telegraphs. He grabbed the handle and pulled it all the way to the right, before returning it to the left, where the indicator showed the words “FULL ASTERN”.

Below decks, in the engine compartment of the Titanic, the activity was at a fever-pace. There were crewmen running along catwalks, checking to ensure that the gigantic engine which powered the great ship was running at optimum performance. The hundred or so men who were the stokers were frantically shoveling coal into the furnaces that provided the steam power for the ship. The men were covered in sweat and coal dust.

* * *

Justin and Ethan were standing at the bow of the ship, watching the water curl along the knife-edge of the prow of the ship. A school of dolphins were swimming along side the ship, occasionally jumping out of the water. Justin watched the dolphins fascinated with their movement. He grabbed a hold of the support lines that attached to the prow of the ship and jumped up on the railing. He could feel the wind ripping through his hair, and held his arms straight out from his sides. I feel like I am flying. He tipped his head backward slightly, and allowed the sensation to carry him away for a few moments.

* * *

Brian, Lindsay, and Ruth had settled at a table in the Palm Court restaurant. They were joined by J. Bruce Ismay, the director of the White Star Line, Thomas Andrews, the ship builder, and Deborah Novotny. Mr. Ismay was discussing the birth of the Titanic with the group. “She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history, and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the keel plates up.”

Thomas blushed slightly. “Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay’s. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is, willed into solid reality.”

The Palm Court restaurant was one of the brightest spots on Titanic, with large arched windows, and light wood accents. It was a less-formal setting for the first and second-class passengers than the dining room which would be used each evening for dinner. 

Lindsay placed a cigarette in a long, thin holder and lit up. Her mother cleared her throat slightly. “You know I don’t like that, Lindsay.”

Lindsay gave her mother a slight look as Brian took the cigarette from her and stubbed it out. The waiter approached Brian on his right side, and handed him a menu. Brian perused the menu quickly, and then began to speak. “We’ll both have the lamb. Rare, with very little mint sauce.” He handed the menu back to the waiter who went around to the other people at the table to take their orders.

Deb was watching the dynamic between Lindsay, Brian and the waiter. After the waiter had taken everyone’s orders and stepped away, she spoke to Brian. “So, are you going to cut her meat for her too, Brian?” Brian shot her a look that warned her to keep her mouth shut. Deb smiled inwardly, then turned to Bruce. “So, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?”

Bruce’s smile grew wider. “Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, and safety.”

Lindsay turned to Bruce. “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.” Thomas choked on his breadstick, trying to suppress his laughter. 

“My god, Lindsay! What’s gotten in to you?” Ruth hissed under her breath. 

“Excuse me.” Lindsay placed her napkin on the table, stood, and left the room. 

Ruth was mortified. “I do apologize. My daughter knows better.”

Deb chuckled slightly. “She’s a pistol, Brian. You sure you can handle her?”

Brian was visibly tense, but feigned unconcern. “I may have to start minding what she reads from now on.”


	8. My Heart Will Go On

****

Chapter 8 – First Glances  
Titanic, April 12, 1912

Justin was sitting on a bench on the aft deck, his knees drawn up supporting his leather sketch pad. He was drawing rapidly, using purposeful strokes. He was drawing a little girl and her father who were watching the seagulls fly over the ship. Ethan peeked over Justin’s shoulder at the drawing. “Tis’ good, this new one.” The sketch captured the two people flawlessly along with the shared emotion between father and daughter.

Justin nodded appreciatively, and turned back to his sketch to add the finishing touches. Justin and Ethan had made a few friends among their fellow steerage passengers. One of their new friends, Tommy Ryan, joined them in the sunlight and offered cigarettes to them.

A White Star Line crewmember strolled by the men, with three dogs on leashes. Tommy scowled at the crewman. “That’s typical. First class dogs come down here to take a shyte.”

Justin dusted off his sketch and looked up at Tommy. “That’s so we remember where we rank in the scheme of things.” Justin smiled widely.

“Like we could ever forget.” Tommy said with a chuckle.

Justin glanced across the deck in search of the subject of his next sketch. Along the aft railing of B deck stood Lindsay, wearing a long sun-yellow dress and elbow-length gloves. She carefully unpinned her hat and tossed it like a Frisbee over the railing. The wind caught the hat and it soared over the edge of the ship and in to the water.

Justin watched Lindsay closely. She looks sad. She would be wonderful to draw. A tall, auburn haired man walked up to Lindsay and took her arm. She turned to the man and they argued. It appeared as a pantomime to Justin, but it was obvious that Lindsay was not happy with this man.

Brian turned slightly and stared right at Justin. Justin was caught staring back, but his gaze never wavered. Brian gave Justin a slight tongue-in-cheek smirk, only looking away when Lindsay stormed off.

Ethan tapped Tommy lightly on the shoulder and pointed at Justin, who was gazing raptly at the two First Class passengers. Ethan and Tommy shared a chuckle, as Ethan shook Justin lightly. “Forget about it boyo,” Tommy said. “You’d as like have angels fly out o’yer arse as get next to the likes o’her.”

Justin nodded slightly. _But it’s not her that I want to get next to. It’s him._

****

* * *

“That night at dinner, I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering back to the blonde-haired man that I caught staring at me.” Brian smiled slightly from the memory.

“Throughout dinner, I saw my life as if I had already lived it – an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, always the same mindless chatter. Life was different then. As the heir to the Kinney Steel fortune, I was expected to take my place in society. I was expected to marry and produce another heir, to keep the Kinney line going strong.”

“I had known from a young age that I was ‘different’. I knew that I never wanted to marry, and that my feelings toward women were not what I was expected to have. The marriage to Lindsay was, for lack of a better term, arranged. Nowadays you would call it a marriage of convenience. Back then, gay men had no choice but to stay in the closet. There was no such thing as being out and proud like there is today. So I went along with my father’s plan, as much as it bothered me to do so. I didn’t see any alternative.”

Brian glanced around the room. The crowd of people had increased to about fifteen from the original five or six. All were staring at him with rapt attention.

“Later that evening, Lindsay decided to do something rather dramatic. That’s when I got to meet Justin for the first time. I never had believed in fate before that night. After I met Justin, my whole existence was turned upside down.”

****

* * *

Lindsay ran along the B deck promenade, her hair flying in every direction and her cheeks stained with makeup.

She was angry – furious – mostly with her fiancée. She ran past an older couple who were out for an evening stroll. She did not notice their shocked expression as she passed. Such displays of emotion, especially among the upper class, were unheard of for the time.

Justin was reclining on one of the many benches along the aft deck smoking a cigarette and gazing at the stars blazing overhead. With the exception of the Quartermaster, he was the only one on the deck.

Justin was lost in his thoughts – about his life and where he was going after the Titanic docked in New York. He heard the footsteps in the distance, but did not move until Lindsay reached the railing.

Lindsay was sobbing. She looked over the railing at the dark water, mesmerized by the white foam created by the massive propellers that moved the ship forward. She hitched up the skirt of her blood-red evening gown and began to methodically climb over the railing. She turned around. The heels of her shoes hooked into the railing and held on. Leaning slightly forward, she could see the letters ‘TITANIC’. Her dress and her hair were being lifted by the wind created by the ship’s movement.

Justin slowly walked toward Lindsay. “Don’t do it,” he said firmly.

Lindsay’s head whipped around at the sound of Justin’s voice. “Stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

Justin noticed her tear-stained face from the faint glow of the running lights. He took a quick drag of his cigarette and took a step forward. Lindsay looked as if she were ready to throw herself overboard. Justin flicked the remnants of his cigarette over the edge of the railing and into the Atlantic. He reached toward Lindsay. “Take my hand. I’ll pull you back.”

Lindsay looked sternly at Justin. “No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I’ll let go!”

“No you won’t.” Justin stated plainly.

Lindsay let out an exasperated sigh. “What do you mean no, I won’t? Don’t presume to tell me what I will and will not do! You don’t know me!”

Justin took another slight step forward, his hand still outstretched toward her. “You would have done it already. Now, come on, take my hand.” He reached out toward her again with his right hand and a hopeful expression on his face.

Lindsay appeared confused. She wiped her tears away with one hand and nearly lost her balance. She quickly grabbed the railing. “You’re distracting me. Go away!”

“I can’t. I’m involved now. If you let go, I have to jump in after you.” Justin unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off, casually dropping it on the deck.

“Don’t be absurd. You’ll be killed.” Lindsay’s voice started to waver, showing less bravado than moments before.

“I’m a good swimmer.” Justin began to untie his shoes.

Lindsay glanced down at the water, sixty feet below. “The fall alone would kill you.”

Justin inched closer to the railing. He quickly looked over the railing and turned toward Lindsay. “It would hurt. I’m not saying it wouldn’t. To be honest, I’m a lot more concerned about the water being so cold.”

Lindsay stared down at the water, the reality of what she was about to do sinking in. “How cold?”

“Freezing, maybe a couple degrees over.” Justin toed off his shoes. “Ever been to Wisconsin?”

Lindsay looked at Justin, perplexed. “No.”

“Well, they have some of the coldest winters around, and I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. Once when I was a kid, me and my father were ice fishing out on Lake Wissota. Ice fishing’s where you chop a hole in the…”

“I know what ice fishing is!” Lindsay exclaimed. She shook her head slightly, an annoyed look on her face.

Justin nodded slightly. “Sorry. Just…you look like an indoor kind of girl. Anyway, I went through some thin ice and I’m tellin’ ya, water that cold – like right down there – it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can’t breathe. You can’t think, at least about anything but the pain.” He looked around the deck, and then back at Lindsay. “Which is why I’m not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don’t see a choice. I guess I’m kinda hoping you’ll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here.”

“You’re crazy.” Lindsay refused to look at Justin, instead staring off at the horizon.

Justin slid another step closer, as if he was approaching a skittish horse. “That’s what everybody says. But with all due respect, I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship. You don’t want to do this. Give me your hands.” Justin closed the distance between him and Lindsay and held his arms open. 

Lindsay stared at Justin for a moment and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright.” She slowly released one hand from the railing and reached toward Justin. He grasped her hand firmly.

“I’m Justin Taylor.” He gave her a big smile.

“Lindsay deWitt Peterson.”

Justin chuckled lightly. “I’ll have to get you to write that one down for me.” He held on to her arms tightly as she began to turn around fully.

Lindsay’s voice began to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Taylor.” Lindsay began to climb back over the railing. As she started to climb, the beaded train to her dress became entangled with her feet. She was so nervous that she did not notice. As she stepped on the railing, her foot slid off and she plunged downward.

Lindsay let out a sharp shriek, piercing the stillness of the night. Justin was jerked forward, toward the railing but maintained his firm grasp on her arm. “Help! Help!” Lindsay screamed. Quartermaster Rowe was startled by Lindsay’s scream and began to run from the docking bridge down to the aft deck to investigate.

“I’ve got you! I’m not letting go!” 

Justin was grasping Lindsay awkwardly, holding onto any part of her that he could. He braced his feet against the lower rail and lifted a kicking and flailing Lindsay over the top railing. They fell together on to the deck in a tangled heap, with Justin slightly on top of Lindsay.

Quartermaster Rowe slid down the ladder from the Docking Bridge and sprinted across the fantail. “Here, what’s all this?” he exclaimed. When he reached the pair, he ripped Justin bodily off of Lindsay.

Lindsay appeared disheveled, her fine evening gown torn, the hem pushed up above her knees revealing one ripped stocking. She was sobbing.

Rowe looked from Lindsay to Justin – from a First Class lady in distress to a shaggy steerage passenger, missing his coat and shoes. He assumed that Justin had attacked Lindsay. He looked at Justin with contempt. “Here you, stand back. Don’t move an inch!”

Another White Star Line crewmember had joined Quartermaster Rowe at the fantail. Rowe grabbed him. “Fetch the Master at Arms” he said sternly.

****

* * *

A few minutes later, the burly Master at Arms had arrived and handcuffed Justin. Brian, Ben, and Colonel Archibald Gracie had also arrived. Colonel Gracie was still holding his brandy snifter. It was obvious that the gentlemen had been interrupted.

Colonel Gracie offered his brandy to Lindsay, who gently shook her head no. She was sitting on the same bench Justin had been laying on earlier, wrapped in a heavy woolen blanket, hunched over and crying. Brian gave Justin a cursory glance. _That’s the same man I saw earlier today._ He strode quickly over to Justin and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.

“What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancée? What did you think you were doing?” Brian’s voice was tinged with rage, his reaction based on what Quartermaster Rowe had told him – an assumption, but it was enough to infuriate Brian.

Justin looked up at Brian meekly, silently hoping that he would not be hit, or worse, spend the rest of his voyage detained below decks.

Lindsay finally spoke up. “Brian, stop! It was an accident.”

Brian eyed his fiancée suspiciously. “An accident?” he inquired sarcastically.

“It was stupid, really. I was leaning over and I slipped.” Lindsay shot a desperate glance at Justin. “I was leaning way over to see, ah, the, um…”

“Propellers?” Colonel Gracie interjected.

“Yes! Propellers!” Lindsay said emphatically. “And I slipped, and I would have gone overboard, and Mr. Taylor here saved me and he almost went over himself.”

Brian let go of Justin, and walked over to Lindsay. “You wanted to see the propellers.” He barely contained a chuckle.

Colonel Gracie shook his head. “Like I have stated before, women and machinery do not mix.”

“Was that the way of it?” the Master at Arms asked Justin. Lindsay silently prayed that Justin would not say what truly happened.

Justin rocked back on his heels slightly. “Uh huh, that was pretty much it.” He looked from Lindsay to Brian and back. Brian glared at Justin, trying to discern if Justin was speaking the whole truth.

Colonel Gracie stepped forward and clapped Justin on the shoulder with his free hand. “Well! The boy’s a hero then. Good for you, son. Well done!” He motioned toward the Master at Arms to unlock the handcuffs restraining Justin’s hands.

While the Master at Arms was finishing up with Justin, Colonel Gracie cleared his throat. Brian turned toward him and gave him a questions glance. “So it’s all well and back to our brandy, eh?”

Brian ignored Colonel Gracie’s comment and went over to Lindsay. He removed the blanket from her shoulders and rubbed her arms. “Let’s get you in. You’re freezing!” Brian began to lead Lindsay back toward the B deck door. Colonel Gracie muttered lowly “Ah, perhaps a little something for the boy?”

Brian glanced quickly at Justin and continued walking. _I need to get away from him. I don’t want to say or do anything, as it might be my undoing. I must act as if he is insignificant. I can’t let on that this intriguing man has captured my interest._ “Oh, right. Mr. Bruckner, a twenty should do it.” Brian said off-handedly.

Lindsay stopped walking, and had a shocked expression on her face. “Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?”

Brian looked at Lindsay with a tongue-in-cheek smirk. “Lindsay is displeased. Mmm…what to do?” Brian turned back to Justin and eyed him over. _A steerage ruffian, one of the great unwashed. Why does he intrigue me so?_ “Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow, to regale our group with your heroic tale?” Brian looked directly at Justin, his hazel eyes piercing the low light of the deck.

Justin looked back at Brian just as firmly. “Sure. Count me in.”

“Good. It’s settled then.” Lindsay wound her arm around Brian’s waist and he led her and Colonel Gracie back to the interior of the ship. Brian leaned close to the Colonel and whispered “This should be amusing.”

Justin sat on the bench and slipped on his shoes. Quartermaster Rowe and the Master at Arms had already left, but Ben was walking slowly toward Brian and Lindsay.

“Can I bum a cigarette?” Justin inquired as Ben passed. Ben smoothly drew a silver cigarette case from his jacket pocket and snapped it open. Justin took one cigarette, and then decided to take another, propping it behind his ear for later. Ben offered to light Justin’s cigarette.

Ben pointed down to Justin’s shoes. “You’ll want to tie those.”

Justin took a deep drag off of his cigarette and looked down at his shoes. He looked back at Ben and shrugged slightly.

“Interesting that the lady slipped so suddenly and you still had time to remove your jacket and your shoes.” Ben looked blandly at Justin, but his eyes were icy cold. He turned away from Justin and walked hurriedly to join his group.

****

* * *

Lindsay was sitting in front of the vanity mirror listening to her favorite music box while she prepared for bed. Brian knocked gently on the doorframe and waited for Lindsay to acknowledge him. After Lindsay nodded her acknowledgement, he walked across the room and sat on the edge of the vanity. He closed the music box and pushed it aside. “I know you’ve been melancholy, and I don’t pretend to know why.” From behind his back he produced a large black velvet jewelry box and handed it to Lindsay. She took the box from his hands.

“I intended to save this for the engagement gala next week, but I thought maybe tonight, perhaps a reminder of my feelings for you.”

Lindsay slowly opened the box. A large, almost garish necklace was inside. It was huge, a malevolent blue stone, precisely cut and faceted into a heart shape surrounded by white diamonds. The large blue stone glittered with infinity of scalpel-like inner reflections.

Brian gently lifted the necklace from the box and stepped behind Lindsay. He draped the necklace around her neck and turned her toward the mirror.

“My god, Brian, is it a…”

“Diamond. Yes, it is.” Brian stated plainly. “It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth. They call it ‘La Coeur de la Mer’.”

“The Heart of the Ocean.” Lindsay stated in awe, gently touching the large blue stone. “Brian, it’s overwhelming.”

“It’s for royalty. And we are royalty, Lindsay.” Brian gently caressed Lindsay’s skin.

Lindsay picked up on the hesitancy in Brian’s touch. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, Brian. There’s nothing I’d deny you if you would deny me. Open your heart to me, Brian.”

Brian smiled lightly at Lindsay. “Good-night, Lindsay.” He left the room quickly.

****

* * *

“Of course, the gift was all part of the play. Lindsay knew that the relationship between us was for show. At least she had her suspicions that I truly didn’t love her. After all these years, I can still remember how I felt. Trapped. Trapped by my family’s expectations. Trapped by Lindsay and her mother. Trapped by society.” Brian sighed deeply.

“So let me get this right. Lindsay decided to try and get more of your attention that night by trying to kill herself?” Lewis inquired. He laughed a hearty, deep laugh. “That’s great!” Brian gave a sideward glance to Lewis and started to laugh along with him. “All she had to do was wait two days!” Lewis continued to chuckle.

Brian nodded his head in agreement.

Brock checked his watch. _Shit. This has taken hours. We don’t have time for this._ He cleared his throat slightly. “Brian, tell us more about the diamond. What did you do with it after giving it to Lindsay?”

Brian contemplated Brock’s question momentarily and then yawned widely. “I’m afraid I’m feeling a little tired, Mr. Lovett.” Taylor picked up on the cue and began to wheel Brian out of the room.

“Wait!” Brock exclaimed. “Can’t you give us something to go on, here? Like who had access to the safe? What about this Bruckner guy? The valet. Did he have the combination?” Brock sounded desperate.

Brian tapped Taylor’s hand, signaling him to stop. “That’s enough,” he stated sternly. Taylor again started to take Brian back to his stateroom.

Brian’s old hand reappeared in the doorway in a frail wave goodbye.

****

* * *

The large hydraulic jib swung one of the giant submersibles out over the water in preparation for a launch. Brock was standing by the deck railing watching the careful orchestration between the Keldysh crew and the machinery. Their timing and movements, along with the manipulation of the heavy machinery, was perfect.

Bobby Buell was running, and was completely out of breath when he reached Brock. “The partners are pissed, Lovett,” he wheezed.

Brock continued to watch the submersible. “Buy me time, Bobby. I need time.”

Bobby finally caught his breath. “We’re running thirty thousand **a day** , we’re **six** days over, and **you** want **me** to buy you time? That’s rich Brock. I’m telling you what they’re telling me. The hand is on the plug and it’s starting to pull.” 

Brock faced Bobby. “Well, **you** tell the hand **I** need another two days.” He jabbed his index finger at Bobby to punctuate his statement. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby…we’re close. I smell it. I smell ice. He had the diamond in his hands. Now we just have to find out where it wound up. I just have to work Brian a bit more. OK?”

Brock turned around and found Taylor standing behind him. “Bobby, we’ll continue this later.” Taylor had overheard most of the conversation with Bobby. Brock closed the gap between himself and Taylor and ushered him toward a quiet spot on the deck. 

“Hey, Taylor, I need to talk to you for a second.”

Taylor scowled at Brock. “Don’t you mean work me?”

Brock’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Look, I’m running out of time. I need your help.”

Taylor sighed. “I’m not going to help you browbeat my hundred and three year old Grandfather. I came down here to tell you to back off.”

Brock looked at Taylor, his desperation painted across his face. “Taylor, you’ve got to understand something. I’ve bet it all to find that necklace. I’ve got all my money tied up in this thing. My wife even divorced me over this hunt. I need what’s locked up inside your Grandpa’s memory. He held out his hand, palm up, cupped as if it were holding an imaginary shape. “You see this? Right here?” He shook his hand for emphasis.

“What?”

“That’s the shape my hand’s gonna be when I hold that thing. You understand? I’m not leaving here without it.”

Taylor gave Brock a tongue-in-cheek smirk that made Taylor look like Brian would have when he was younger. “Look, Brock, he’s going to do this his own way, in his own time. Don’t forget **he** contacted **you**. He’s out here for his own reasons. God knows what they are.”

Brock stared out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, lit only by moonlight. “Maybe your Grandpa wants to make peace with the past.”

Taylor chuckled. “What past? He has never once, not once, ever said a word about being on the Titanic until two days ago.”

“Then we are all meeting your grandfather for the first time.”

Taylor looked at Brock sternly. “You think he was really there?”

Brock smiled slightly. “Oh, yeah! Yeah. I’m a believer. He was there.”


	9. My Heart Will Go On

****

  
Research Vessel Keldysh Imaging Shack, The North Atlantic  
1997

Brian was watching the live feed from the ROV ‘Snoop Dog’ intently. The ROV was sending pictures from the A-deck promenade. Some of the large rectangular windows still had glass in them.

Lewis set up a video camera, and trained it on Brian. “Are you ready to start, Brian?”

Brian took one last glance at Snoop Dog’s monitor and turned back to face Lewis. He nodded slightly.

The crowd from yesterday – Brock, Lewis, Bobby, Taylor, and a handful of Keldysh crew – all settled in to listen.

“The next day, Saturday,” Brian began, “I remember thinking about how the sunlight felt. As if I hadn’t felt the sun in years.”

****

* * *

April 13, 1912  
Titanic, The North Atlantic

Brian unlatched the gate that separated the first and second-class decks from the third class deck. A few steerage men stopped as Brian walked in and stared. It was uncommon for a first-class passenger to be seen with someone socially lower than himself.

Brian entered the third class common room. It was stark in comparison to the elegance and opulence that he was accustomed to in first class. It was a loud, boisterous place. There were mothers with their babies, children running between the benches that were bolted to the floor yelling in a cornucopia of languages, and being scolded in many more.

There were old men playing chess in one corner of the room, girls sitting wherever they could doing needlepoint, and others reading dime novels. Most of the people were dressed shabbily in comparison to Brian, who looked overdressed in his fancy day suit.

Brian scanned the room quickly, looking for Justin. He found Justin sitting on the floor with a young girl, no older than five. They were drawing silly faces in Justin’s sketchbook.

Ethan was sitting nearby, trying to start a conversation with an attractive Norwegian immigrant girl. “No Italian? Some little English?” he inquired.

She looked at Ethan sadly. “No. No. Norwegian only.”

Ethan sighed deeply. “I’m Ethan. Ethan Gold.” He pointed at himself for emphasis. “You?”

“Helga Dahl.” She smiled brightly at Ethan, and began to speak rapidly in Norwegian. Ethan nodded occasionally, in an attempt to make more sense of what Helga was trying to tell him. She stopped talking mid-sentence as her gaze locked on a person approaching them. Ethan followed her gaze and did a double take before blindly trying to tap Justin.

Justin tried to shoo Ethan’s hand away until Ethan finally was able to grab Justin’s hand and pull. Justin stood and looked at the person Ethan was pointing at.

Brian was walking confidently toward the group. The activity in the room came to a halt and a hush fell across the gathered passengers. He felt slightly self-conscious – a rarity for him – as the steerage passengers stared openly at him, some in awe and some with resentment. He spotted Justin and smiled slightly. Justin walked toward Brian.

“Hello, Mr. Taylor.” Brian said warmly.

Ethan and Tommy looked shocked. A first class passenger in the third class common room was shocking enough. The fact that he remembered Justin was an even greater shock.

“Mr. Kinney. Hello again.” Justin’s voice wavered slightly.

“Could I speak with you in private?” 

Justin felt a light tug on his pant leg. The little girl he had been playing with moments before handed him his sketch book and roll of supplies. Justin ruffled her hair. “Thanks, Cora.”

Justin looked back up at Brian. “Uh, yes. Of course. After you,” he stammered. He motioned Brian ahead. Just before he left the room, he glanced over his shoulder back at Ethan, with one eyebrow raised.

****

* * *

Brian and Justin walked side by side along the deck, looking for a more private place to sit and talk. They passed many people sitting in wooden steamer chairs, some who glanced curiously at the mismatched pair. Justin was visibly feeling out of place in his shabby clothes compared to the finery that the first class passengers were wearing.

Brian felt awkward for different reasons. It was not every day that he was seen walking with another man other than Ben, his valet, let alone a person that he would not normally associate with. If Justin was one of the men working in the Kinney steel mills, he would never know of the man’s existence. Let alone have a conversation with him.

They found a bench that was away from the majority of onlookers and sat down. Justin clutched at his sketchbook nervously.

Brian coughed lightly. “Mr. Taylor, I…”

“Call me Justin,” he interrupted.

“Justin.” Brian shifted nervously. “I feel like an idiot. It took me all morning to convince myself to come talk to you.”

“Well, here you are.” Justin looked away, at a point off in the distance.

Brian chuckled. “Yes, here I am. I…I want to thank you for what you did. Not only for pulling Lindsay back, but for your discretion as well.”

Justin smiled lightly. “You’re welcome, Mr. Kinney,” he said warmly.

“Please call me Brian, since you want me to use your first name. You must have a terrible impression of not only my fiancée, but also of me.”

Justin chewed on his bottom lip for just a moment while pondering his response. Brian was watching him intently. _He is a beautiful man, but I am spoken for. I must get these thoughts out of my mind. My path in life has been cast in stone,_ Brian thought. _I must not let my desires govern my thoughts._

Justin interrupted Brian’s train of thought. “No, Brian. I don’t have a terrible impression of you or Miss Peterson. I was thinking, however, what could have happened to hurt her so much that she thought she had no way out?”

Brian looked away, unable to face Justin. “It wasn’t just one thing. It was everything. She is my fiancée and she is aware that I consider our relationship more a business arrangement than a marriage. I know she wants more of me than I am willing to give.”

“Ahh,” Justin uttered. “So, you both feel trapped by this arrangement. So don’t marry her.”

A passing steward scowled at Justin, and appeared prepared to remove the ‘steerage rat’ bodily from the deck. It was obvious that the steward was offended by Justin’s presence on the first class deck. Brian glared at the steward until he left the pair alone.

“If only it were that simple.” Brian sighed. “You probably wouldn’t understand.”

“It is that simple. It’s your life, correct? You control your own destiny, Brian.” Justin stated emphatically.

“Justin, please do not judge me until you have seen my world.”

Justin smiled. “Well, I guess I will tonight.”

An awkward silence grew between the two men. Brian was mentally searching for another topic to continue their conversation. He noticed the leather sketchbook on Justin’s lap. He tapped it lightly. “What’s this? You are holding on to it like it is a lifebelt.”

“Just some sketches.” Justin ran his hands over the aged leather cover, and loosened his grip on the book.

“May I?” Brian inquired. It was a moot point. Brian had already taken the sketchbook from Justin. He slowly flipped through the book, each sketch an expressive piece of humanity - an old woman’s hands, a sleeping man, a father and daughter standing along the railing of the Titanic.

“Justin, these are really quite good.” Brian was in awe of the talent exhibited in each sketch.

A light breeze came across the deck, and a few of Justin’s loose sketches were caught by the wind. Brian was caught by surprise, and tried to hold on to as many sketches as possible. A few pieces of paper escaped his hands and fluttered down to the deck.

Justin scrambled after the sketches, managing to catch two before they were carried over the railing and into the ocean.

“Justin, I am truly sorry.” Brian was apologetic.

Justin snickered. “Sorry’s bullshit, Brian.” He waved his hand in the air with a flourish. “I just seem to spew them out anyways. Besides, they’re not worth a damn.” He looked quickly at the two rescued sketches, and then threw them over the railing.

Brian looked shocked. “You’re deranged!” He turned his attention back to the sketchbook. He turned a few pages and then stopped. “Well, well…”

He had come across a series of nudes – both men and women. The pieces were more like portraits than studies of the human form, with many of the sketches appearing to be very intimate.

“These were drawn from life?” Brian inquired.

“Yup. That’s one of the great things about Paris. Lots of men and women willing to take their clothes off.”

Brian continued to look through the drawings. He studied one drawing intently. It was of a man, posed half in sunlight, half in shadow. His hands lay at his chin, one furled open like a flower – graceful and languid. “You used this man several times. You liked him.”

Justin blushed slightly. “He had beautiful hands,” he explained.

Brian smiled wickedly. “I think you must be a bugger*, and had a love affair with him.”

Justin laughed heartily. “You’re right on one count, Brian, but not on the other. I did not have a love affair with him, just his hands.”

The conversation lulled slightly as Brian processed what Justin said. A few people walked past where Brian and Justin were sitting. Brian partially closed the sketchbook and nodded slightly at the people strolling by. “You have a gift, Justin. You do. You see people.” Brian looked at Justin, his hazel eyes piercing.

Justin shifted nervously. “I see you,” he muttered.

Brian smirked. “And?”

Justin sighed. “I can tell you are unhappy with your life. Maybe I should just go back to my end of the ship until dinner.” Justin began to take his sketchbook back from Brian.

Brian placed his hand on top of Justin’s, stopping him. “No. Stay. I enjoy talking with you.”

****

* * *

Lindsay, Ruth, and the countess of Rothes were all sitting around a small table in the D-deck reception room for afternoon tea. Ruth looked toward the door and noticed Deb Novotny walking across the room and toward them.

“Oh no, that vulgar Novotny woman is coming this way. Get up, quickly, before she sits with us,” Ruth said in hushed tones, trying not to be overheard. The three women were standing to leave as Debbie reached their table.

“Hello girls,” Debbie said cheerfully. “I was hoping I’d catch you at tea.”

Ruth frowned slightly. “We’re awfully sorry you missed it. Lindsay, the Countess, and I are just off to take the air on the boat deck.”

Debbie smiled widely. “That sounds wonderful. Let’s go. I need to get caught up on my gossip.”

Ruth ground her teeth and began to follow Debbie and Lindsay to the Grand Staircase to go up. They passed Captain Smith and Bruce Ismay, who were also taking afternoon tea.

****

* * *

“So you’ve not list the last four boilers then?” Bruce inquired.

Captain Smith shook his head slightly. “No, but we are making excellent time.”

Bruce looked perturbed. “Captain, the press knows the size of Titanic, let them marvel at her speed too. We must give them something new to print. And the maiden voyage of Titanic must make headlines,” he said impatiently.

Captain Smith sighed deeply and tried not to roll his eyes. “I prefer not to push the engines until they’ve been properly run in.”

“Of course, as a passenger I leave it to your good offices to decide what’s best.” Bruce said. “But what a glorious end to your last crossing if we get into New York Tuesday night and surprise them all.” He slapped the table for emphasis. “Retire with a bang, eh E.J.?”

Captain Smith took a sip of his tea and nodded stiffly at Mr. Ismay. Bruce stood up and clapped the Captain on the shoulder, then left the room.

****

* * *

Brian and Justin strolled along the A-deck promenade, passing mostly first and second class passengers lounging on deck chairs in the late afternoon sunlight. Stewards rushed between chairs serving tea and hot cocoa. The two men stopped at a quiet spot along the railing to watch the sunset.

“So what then, mister wandering Justin?” Brian inquired, trying to steer the conversation back to pleasant topics. The hues of the sunset made Brian’s eyes more golden, and his hair glowed with the Irish red highlights.

“Well, then logging got to be too much like work, so I went down to Los Angeles to the pier in Santa Monica. That’s a swell place. They even have a rollercoaster. I sketched portraits there for ten cents a piece.”

Brian looked at Justin, a smirk on his face. “A whole ten cents?” he said sarcastically.

Justin kept talking enthusiastically, either not hearing Brian’s joke or ignoring it. “Yeah, it was great money. I could make a dollar a day sometimes, but only in the summer. When it got to be cold, I decided to go to Paris and see what the real artists were doing.”

“You sure do seem to get around a lot for a po…er, a person of limited means.” Brian stammered slightly.

Justin shook his head. “You mean poor. Go ahead and say it, Brian. I _am_ poor.”

Brian chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “There’s nothing noble in being poor, Justin.”

“Just like there’s nothing ‘noble’ in being rich, Brian. The only difference between you and me is that you have the means to do anything you please right at your fingertips. Me, I’ve had to scratch out my own existence since I was fifteen.”

Brian touched Justin’s arm lightly. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Justin.”

Justin brushed invisible lint off of his jacket. “You didn’t offend me. I’m used to it.”

The orange light painted across the promenade, making everything appear very alive. Brian gazed out along the horizon. “Why can’t I be more like you, Justin? Just head out for the horizon whenever I felt like it?” He paused, then turned toward Justin. “Say that we’ll go there – to that pier in Santa Monica – even if we ever just talk about it.”

“Alright,” Justin said enthusiastically. “We’re going. We’ll drink cheap beer, and go on the rollercoaster until we throw up, and we’ll ride horses on the beach, right in the surf. But you’ll have to wear something other than these fancy clothes.” Justin ran his fingers down the lapels of Brian’s jacket. The feel of the fine fabric underneath his fingertips mesmerized him. He looked up and found Brian staring back at him intently. 

Brian’s breath caught in his throat at Justin’s touch – the sensation almost like a low electrical current running through his body. He felt his cock twitch. _I can’t allow this to happen. I’ve let Justin get to me and I can’t jeopardize everything to have him use the knowledge against me. It would be my ruin. Yet, somehow, I know that there is something about him – something important. I can’t let him go just yet._

The two men stood mere inches apart, gazing intently into each other’s eyes. Justin’s fingertips were still tracing light lines up and down Brian’s lapels. 

Ruth, Lindsay, the Countess of Rothes, and Debbie were also walking along the A-deck promenade. Ruth noticed Brian first and stopped suddenly. She was shocked by what she saw – her future son-in-law in what appeared to be an intimate conversation with a third class passenger.

Ruth walked up to Brian and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned slowly, and his complexion blanched momentarily when he saw her glaring up at him. He backed away from Justin suddenly.

Lindsay stepped forward just as quickly and took Justin by the arm. “Mother, may I introduce Justin Taylor.” Brian took the opportunity to regain his composure.

Ruth eyed Justin with contempt. “Charmed, I’m sure.” She said stiffly.

Brian glared at Ruth, while Lindsay continued to introduce Justin to the rest of the ladies. 

Brian cleared his throat lightly to gain the group’s attention. “Thank you, Mr. Taylor, for talking with me. I shall see you at dinner this evening.” His demeanor had returned to what was expected of someone in his position in society. “Ladies.” Brian walked away quickly.

Lindsay quickly told the ladies that Justin was the man who saved her from almost falling over the railing. Debbie noticed that Justin appeared preoccupied, and had followed Brian’s retreat with his eyes.

Debbie smiled brightly. “Well, Justin, it sounds like you are a good man to have around in a sticky spot.”

The group all jumped as a bugler sounded the evening meal call right behind them. “Why do they insist on announcing dinner like a damned cavalry charge?” Debbie sighed.

“I shall see you at dinner, Ruth. Thank you for the walk, ladies. Mr. Taylor.” The Countess took her leave of the group.

Lindsay turned to her mother. “Shall we go dress mother?” She smiled sweetly at Justin. “See you at dinner, Justin.”

Justin stared off at the horizon, oblivious to the people around him. Debbie was trying to get his attention. “Son. Son!” Justin finally turned and faced Debbie. “Do you have the slightest comprehension of what you’re doing?” Deb was fussing with Justin’s jacket.

Justin shook his head. “Not really.”

Deb nodded. “Well, you’re about to go into the snake pit. I hope you’re ready. What are you planning to wear?”

Justin looked sheepishly at the deck. “I hadn’t thought of that. What I have on, I suppose.”

Debbie gave Justin the once-over. He was dressed in shabby clothes in comparison to what his dining companions would be wearing that evening, and he would be out of place at the formal occasion. She sighed deeply. “I figured as much. Come with me, Sunshine.” Justin took Debbie’s arm, and they left the deck together, heading toward Deb’s suite to prepare for the evening ahead.

* * *

* “bugger” – early 20th century slang for a gay man, primarily used in England.


	10. My Heart Will Go On

****

April 13, 1912  
Titanic, the North Atlantic

Men's suits, jackets, and formal wear were strewn all over the sitting room of Deborah Novotny's suite. Debbie was thoroughly enjoying herself, watching Justin transform from a steerage commoner to a member of society.

Justin stood in front of an oval-shaped floor mirror admiring his reflection. Debbie picked up a jacket and handed it to Justin. He took the fine tailored garment and retreated to the bathroom to finish dressing. Deb started to pick up the discarded clothing from the divan.

Justin's voice floated out of the bathroom. "I really do appreciate this Mrs. Novotny."

Deb smiled. "Call me Deb, Sunshine!" she hollered back to Justin. "Now come on out here and let me tie your tie."

Justin had a sheepish smile on his face as he joined Deb in the sitting room. "Don't feel bad about it," she said. "My husband still can't tie one of these damn things after twenty years.” She placed the finishing touches on the tie and stepped back to admire Justin's transformation. “There you go!"

Justin again admired his reflection in the mirror. "This fits perfectly. Thanks again Deb. I don't know what I would have done without your help!"

Deb smiled brightly. "I had a feeling that you and my son Michael were about the same size. My, my, my. You shine up like a new penny. Now, give me a big smile." she said warmly.

Justin smiled brightly. The new clothes fit as if they had been tailored for him. He looked and felt badass-like a young captain of industry, but definitely a person who belonged in first class.

Deb had finished picking up, and turned to Justin. "Now Justin, you know where to go, right?" He nodded in agreement. She brushed at invisible lint on his lapels. "Good. Now, let a lady dress for dinner and I will meet you there." Deb shooed a grinning Justin out of her room.

* * *

The sunset sky was visible through the large glass dome at the top of the grand staircase. The sky was a deep violet shot with orange highlights.

Justin approached the doors separating the promenade from the grand staircase. A steward bowed snappily and opened the door to the first class entrance as Justin approached. “Good evening, sir.”

Justin was awestruck for a moment, as no one had ever called him ‘sir’ before. He nodded smartly at the steward, with a slight air of disdain.

Justin stepped into the foyer and his breath was taken away by the splendor before him. He looked up and saw the leaded-glass dome and the elaborate crystal chandelier at the center. Sweeping down six decks was the grand staircase – the finest example of naval architecture of the time. The handrails and corner posts were hand-carved and richly stained, no two being exactly the same. The entire staircase was a work of art. Justin marveled at the artistry contained in the entire space.

Justin reached the mid-ship landing, and noticed an ornate clock mounted in an intricate hand-carved setting. The clock chimed, announcing the hour. All of a sudden a mass of people appeared and began to slowly walk down the staircase toward the first class dining hall.

People were greeting each other and milling around, no one in a hurry to be seated. Justin descended the staircase slowly, as he was trying to blend in with the rest of the first class passengers.

Everyone on the deck was dressed immaculately, the men in white-tie formalwear, some of the older gentlemen with top hats, but most without. The women were dressed in floor-length gowns and adorned with so much jewelry that they glittered like the stars with every step.

Justin observed the interaction of the people in the room and tried not to appear as nervous as he felt. Several men passed by him and nodded and smiled in greeting. Justin nodded back, keeping his actions simple.

Brian began descending the stairs with Ruth on his arm. Following right behind was Lindsay. Brian glanced over at Justin and nodded, while Lindsay stopped dead in her tracks.

Justin stepped forward; his left arm tucked neatly behind his back and extended his right hand toward Lindsay. She placed her hand in Justin’s and he leaned in to kiss the back of her hand, just like he saw the other gentlemen doing.

“I saw that in a nickelodeon once, and I always wanted to do it,” he said warmly. He offered his arm to Lindsay, and she took it and guided Justin toward where Brian and Ruth were standing.

Brian had his back to Lindsay, and she tapped him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention. “Darling, surely you remember Mr. Taylor.”

Brian turned around and looked at Justin, a shocked expression on his face. His breath was taken away when he saw Justin all decked out in the borrowed formalwear. “Taylor! I didn’t recognize you!” It was obvious that Brian was caught unprepared for Justin’s appearance. “Amazing. You could almost pass for a gentleman.” Brian smiled warmly at Justin.

Ruth noticed the interaction between the two men. “Almost,” she stated with a venomous tone. Ruth eyed Justin with contempt.

Lindsay also noticed the chemistry between Brian and Justin, and took Brian’s arm as if to show her ownership of him. “Shall we, darling?” Brian eyed Lindsay warily and started to walk. He turned his head slightly toward Justin to make sure that he was following along. 

Deb walked up and tapped Justin on the shoulder. “Care to escort a lady to dinner?” Justin was startled slightly, but quickly regained his composure and lifted her right hand to his lips. Deb smiled widely. “Ain’t nothing to it, is there Sunshine?” 

Justin nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Just dress like a pallbearer and keep your nose up.”

Debbie chuckled lightly. “Just act like you own a goldmine and you’re in the club. Remember the only thing they respect is money.”

Justin and Deb entered the first class dining room, and Justin gasped aloud. There were large oval-shaped tables as far as he could see, each topped with crisp white linens and exquisite fine china and crystal stemware.

Deb led Justin further into the room, toward the swirling throng of people. She leaned in close to his ear and began to point out some of the more notable people in the room.

“There’s the Countess of Rothes – you met her earlier today. And that’s John Jacob Astor, the richest man on the ship. His little wife there, Madeline, is your age and in a delicate condition. See how she is trying to hide it? Quite the scandal.”

Justin chuckled slightly under his breath, amazed at how petty the upper class could be. He continued to allow Deb to guide him around the room. “Who’s that, Deb?”

Deb nodded toward the couple that Justin had inquired about. “That’s Sir Cosmo and Lucille, Lady Duff-Gordon. She designs naughty lingerie, among her many talents.” Deb waved in the direction of the Duff-Gordon’s. “Very popular among the royals.” She continued to take Justin around the room, allowing him to get acclimated to his environment. “That’s Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Madame Aubert. Mrs. Guggenheim is at home with the children, of course.”

Across the room, Brian was keeping a close eye on Justin. _He’s a natural at this. Dinner shall prove to be interesting – as long as I can maintain control, and Ruth and Lindsay keep their comments to themselves._ Brian had been watching Justin so intently, he didn’t hear Colonel Gracie and Cosmo Duff-Gordon trying to get his attention. “Kinney, she’s splendid.” Colonel Gracie commented.

Thankfully, Lindsay was engaged in conversation with Justin and Deb, and Brian finally turned his attention to the two gentlemen talking to him. _Shit, almost blew it there, and dinner hasn’t even started. Thank god they think that I was looking at her. I can’t let anything change their image of me._ “Thank you,” he said, a slight smile on his face. 

Colonel Gracie clapped Brian on the shoulder. “Brian’s a lucky man. I know him well, and it can only be luck.” Cosmo nodded in agreement.

Ruth stepped over to Brian and took his arm almost coquettishly. Brian groaned lightly. “How can you say that, Colonel? Brian Kinney is a great catch.”

Brian rolled his eyes and smirked at Ruth. “A real man makes his own luck.”

* * *

Justin, Deb, and Lindsay continued to stroll toward the main area of the dining hall. All of a sudden Deb shouted. “Hey Astor!”

John Jacob Astor turned and faced Deb. His astonished expression was quickly replaced with a smile when he saw the source of the outburst. “Hello Debbie,” he said warmly.

“J.J., Madeline, I would like to introduce Justin Taylor.” Justin shook Mr. Astor’s hand firmly, aware of the fact that he was being sized up by the man.

“Good to meet you, Justin. Tell me, are you of the Boston Taylors by chance?” J.J. inquired.

“No, the Chippewa Falls Taylors, actually.” Justin answered without missing a beat.

J.J. nodded as if he had heard of them, but also had a puzzled expression on his face. Madeline eyed Justin, and then whispered in Deb’s ear. “Too bad we’re already spoken for, isn’t it Deb?”

Deb smiled lightly back at Madeline. Deb watched Justin scan the room, and saw how his face lit up slightly when he spotted Brian. “Yes. Yes it is,” she said dryly.

* * *

Everyone was seated at the table and settling in for dinner. Brian looked at Justin to try and gauge his comfort level. Justin was seated next to Deb, and had an overwhelmed expression on his face. Brian coughed lightly and Justin glanced sheepishly at him. Brian motioned toward the ornately folded linen napkin on top of the plates. Justin quickly grabbed the napkin, and nodded back to Brian in gratitude.

Justin was seated directly across from Brian, who was flanked by Lindsay and her mother. Thomas Andrews was sitting next to Lindsay. Justin had Deb on his right side and Colonel Gracie on his left. Also in the group were Bruce Ismay, The Countess of Rothes, Benjamin Guggenheim, Madame Aubert, and the Astors.

Ruth decided to break the ice. “Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Taylor. I hear they’re quite good on this ship.” 

“The best I’ve seen ma’am. Hardly any rats.” Justin kept eye contact with Ruth through the entire exchange.

Brian noticed the building tension between Justin and Ruth, and tried to steer the conversation toward more pleasant topics. “Mr. Taylor is joining us from the third class this evening. He was of some assistance to my fiancée last night.”

Colonel Gracie raised his wine glass in a salute to Justin. Justin smiled and raised his glass in turn.

Wait staff began milling around the table, refilling champagne flutes and serving caviar and foie gras.

Brian looked at Justin and spoke to him as if speaking to a child. “This is foie gras. It’s goose liver.”

Justin shot an almost imperceptible glance back at Brian as he waived the waiter away. During their little exchange, whispers traveled around the table. Justin was the subject of furtive glances. Everyone was feeling quite liberal and dangerous with Justin in their company.

Benjamin Guggenheim turned to his mistress and whispered “What does Kinney hope to prove, bringing this...bohemian...to dinner?”

Madame Aubert shrugged lightly.

A different waiter touched Justin lightly on the shoulder. “How do you take your caviar, sir?”

“No caviar for me, thanks.” Justin smiled warmly at the waiter and returned his gaze to Brian. “Never did like it much.” He had a poker face.

Brian’s hazel eyes glimmered slightly, and he smiled back at Justin.

Ruth was still not impressed with Justin, and decided to continue her interrogation. “And where, exactly, do you live Mr. Taylor?”

“Well,” Justin started, “Right now my address is the RMS Titanic. After that, I’m on God’s good humor.”

Ruth frowned. “You find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?” Her tone was acidic.

Justin paused slightly, contemplating his response carefully. “Well, yes ma’am, I do. I mean, I’ve got everything I need right here with me – air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning, not knowing what’s going to happen or who I’m going to meet.” He made a point of looking directly at Brian as he spoke. “Or, for that matter, where I am going to wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am, on the grandest ship in the world, having champagne with you fine people.” 

A waiter approached Justin with an open champagne bottle. “I’ll take some more of that,” he said to the waiter, as a titter of nervous giggles went around the table.

Justin took a sip of champagne and began to speak again. “Well, it’s a big world and I want to see it all before I go. My father was always talking about going to see the ocean. He died in the town he was born in, and never did see it. You can’t wait around, because you never know what hand you’re going to get dealt next. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. That teaches you to take life as it comes to you. To make each day count.”

Brian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. Justin watched Brian carefully, as he took another sip of champagne. Brian was feeling around for matches to light the cigarette that he had propped in his mouth. Justin reached in his jacket pocket and retrieved a pack of matches. “There you go, Brian,” he said as he tossed the matches across the table. Brian plucked the small box out of the air, a tongue-in-cheek smirk planted firmly on his face.

The silence that had descended upon the table as everyone contemplated what Justin had said was broken by Deb, who had her champagne flute raised in the air. “Well said, Justin.”

Colonel Gracie also raised his glass. “Here, here,” he said emphatically.

Brian raised his glass and looked directly into Justin’s eyes. “A toast – to making it count”

Everyone except Ruth raised their glass and repeated Brian’s words in unison. The light chink of glasses touching could be heard.

Ruth was still displeased, as was evident by the expression on her face. She decided to press Justin further, as he was making fast friends among the society folks gathered around the table. “And how is it you have means to travel, Mr. Taylor?”

“I work my way from place to place – tramp steamers and such. I won my ticket on Titanic in a lucky hand at poker.” He looked directly at Brian. “A very lucky hand.”

“All life is a game of luck,” Colonel Gracie interjected. 

Brian took a long draw off of his cigarette, and smirked at Colonel Gracie. “A real man makes his own luck, Archie.”

* * *

The dessert trolley was making its way around the first class dining hall. The atmosphere at Brian’s table was decidedly lighter than at the beginning of the evening. Deb was regaling the group with a story about her husband.

“And Mr. Novotny had no idea I had hidden the money in the stove!” Gales of laughter erupted around the table, and Deb caught her breath. “So he comes home drunk as a pig celebratin’ and lights a fire!” The group all laughed with Deb as she finished her story. As the waiters were clearing dessert, Deb leaned over to whisper in Justin’s ear. “Next it will be cigars and brandy in the smoking room.”

Colonel Gracie was the first to rise from the table. “Well, join me for a brandy, gentlemen?” All of the men began to stand to join the Colonel.

Justin leaned over and quietly asked Deb for a scrap of paper and a pencil. Deb quickly reached into her evening bag and handed the objects to Justin. He quickly wrote something on the piece of paper, and handed the pencil back to Deb.

“Joining us, Taylor?” Colonel Gracie inquired warmly.

“No, thanks. I’ve got to be heading back.” Justin replied. Brian tried hard not to let his disappointment show.

“Probably best. It’ll be all business and politics, that sort of thing – probably wouldn’t interest you.” Brian said warmly. He clapped Justin on the shoulder and began to walk away. He got about five steps away and stopped. He turned around quickly and faced Justin. He tossed the book of matches back to Justin and closed the distance between them.

Justin snatched the matchbox out of the air. Brian was standing directly in front of him. “Good of you to come, Justin,” he whispered. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us in the smoking room?” It was the closest Brian had ever come to asking anyone in his life to stay with him.

“Time for me to go row with the other slaves,” Justin said warmly. “Good night, Brian.” Justin had the small piece of paper folded between his fingers, and placed it in Brian’s palm when they shook hands. Justin smiled widely, turned, and walked out of the first class dining room.

Brian turned slightly to watch Justin’s retreat. He felt the piece of paper in his hand, and quickly unfolded it. It was a note, which said simply:

__

Make it count...  
Meet me at the clock.

* * *

Ruth had been watching the exchange between Brian and Justin carefully, as she had her suspicions about Brian and his budding relationship with the ‘steerage rat’. She scowled at Brian as he left the dining room. Ben noticed that Ruth was agitated, and walked over to her chair. He lightly placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Would you like me to escort you and your daughter back to your suites, Mrs. Dewitt-Peterson?”

Ruth looked up at Ben. “No, thank you Mr. Bruckner. But please do me one favor – keep an eye on Mr. Kinney for me, as I suspect he is up to something.”

Ben nodded slightly. “Ma’am, it is my job to protect Mr. Kinney, not to spy on him,” he said emphatically.

Ruth stopped Ben with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Bruckner, it is in your best interest to follow my instructions as well. I will make it financially worth your while.”

Ben contemplated her words for a moment, nodded curtly, and followed Brian to the smoking room.


End file.
